


Warmed By Your Presence

by Kayim



Category: Primeval
Genre: Other, huddling together for warmth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Becker and Connor are trapped somewhere in the middle of an ice age with no way home. And they've been there too long already...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmed By Your Presence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Fic_Promptly](http://fic-promptly.dreamwidth.org) prompt of: huddling together for warmth.

_"A real friend is like an angel who warms you by their presence and remembers you in their prayers." – Author Unknown_

Becker shivers and clenches his hand, desperate to get some blood circulating through his fingertips. It's so cold that when he speaks the air frosts in front of his face and it feels as though icicles are building up inside his chest every time he breathes. He doesn't even know if his rifle will still work in the extreme cold, but he can't risk testing it. The creatures, whatever they are, have already proven that they are drawn to sound. His muscles are beginning to spasm, tightening and locking from a combination of the temperature and the lack of movement. There is nothing to see but ice and snow, the gleaming white reflecting painfully, despite the shades he wears. 

He's tried to find some shelter for them, a cave or even just a large rock, but there's nothing. Instead, he's done the only thing he can and dug down into the compacted snow enough to create a hole of sorts. It's barely two foot deep, but he had nothing to dig with but his hands and the butt of his rifle, so he feels pretty pleased with himself. 

But that doesn't help with the stomach-clenching knowledge that Connor is curled up in the hole and hasn't spoken for the last twenty minutes.

He finally drops down next to Connor, hearing a crunch that he hopes is the ice-riddled snow rather than his knees. Connor has his arms wrapped around himself, his knees curled up to his chest. His face is buried in the folds of his coat, but Becker can see the flecks of white snow forming on Connor's hair. Tentatively he reaches one hand out to Connor's neck and rests his fingers on the other man's pulse point. It's still strong, but is slowing down and he's terrified that Connor won't last for much longer like this. 

He doesn't have anything else to wrap Connor in – when the anomaly closed behind them they had nothing but the gear they were carrying – but he knows he needs to keep Connor as warm as possible. He lays down in front of him, covering Connor with his body as best he can, pulling Connor tightly against him, wrapping their bodies together. There's nothing erotic or sexy about the situation, despite the number of times he's considered holding Connor while he sleeps. When Connor mumbles his name, Becker is thrilled, but he lies to himself that it's the confirmation of Connor's consciousness that caused his heart to leap.

He slides his hands underneath Connor's shirt, his own meagre body heat seeping from his flesh as he touches as much of Connor as possible. Connor pushes his body closer to the warmth on offer, huddling his face against Becker's neck and curling his hands up under Becker's shirt. Becker rests his cheek against the top of Connor's head and tries to swallow down the feelings of failure that are threatening to overtake him. In moments the two of them are so entwined that it's almost impossible to tell where one starts and the other ends. 

Becker has no idea how long they've been there and it's getting hard for him to keep his eyes open. Connor's quietened again and his breathing is becoming shallow. He forces himself to lift his head but the blinding brightness of the snow hurts too much and he drops back down, resigning himself to whatever comes next. 

_Yet again,_ he thinks to himself as he runs the pad of his thumb across Connor's bottom lip. _I've managed to lose him again_. Connor's lips are pale blue, chapped and as cold as every other part of his body, but Becker can feel the faintest whisp of a breath. 

He moves his own lips to Connor's ear and whispers, half prayer, half order. "Come on, Connor. Stay with me." 

It's been a long time since Becker prayed, another lifetime ago, but he digs beneath his shirt and pulls out the dogtags he wears. It's not his St. Christopher medal, but they're his lifeline now, and he grips them in his hand, asking for a miracle. When there's no response, either from a higher power or from Connor himself, Becker wonders to himself if the tears that are stinging his eyes will freeze on his cheeks.

He doesn't get a chance to find out. 

"They're here!" It's Matt's voice, Becker realises through the haze in his mind. There's talking around him, shouts and cries, but the words make no sense, and he's sure he must be hallucinating. He thinks he hears Abby's voice, and Danny's, but it can't possibly be them. And Matt can't be there either, but he can feel warm hands tugging him up and carrying him towards a bright light. _Maybe this is it,_ he thinks. _Maybe I'm finally dying and this is what it feels like._

Suddenly Matt's voice is clear, right next to him, and he says the only things that matter. 

"Connor's alive. You kept him safe. Let's go home."


End file.
